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The hostess approaches. “Everything all right?”
Jarvis gives her a reassuring nod. “We have a reservation for Grant.”
She goes back to the podium and looks at her list. “Yes, Grant. One of your party is already seated.”
The restaurant has put several tables together. A woman sits in the farthest of the six chairs, three on either, a tablet in front of her, laptop open. She doesn’t look up as we approach, deeply engrossed in her screens. Her straight chestnut hair reaches the middle of her back and hangs loose. I have no idea who she is but hazard a guess she’s Elizabeth Talbot, the woman Jarvis doesn’t want to see.
“Hi, Elizabeth,” Cress calls out. A quickly raised head reveals an expressionless face, wide-spaced hazel eyes, and translucent skin. When she recognizes Cress, a smile transforms her.
“Cress Taylor? So nice to see you again. I hope you and Max had a wonderful trip.”
“Parts of it,” Cress responds dryly. “The terrorist attacks, not so much. But the rest was lovely.”
“I heard. Sorry about the awards dinner.”
“Water under the bridge, kind of. Anyway, I know Max was relieved you agreed to consult with GSU.” She pulls out a chair. “But let’s talk about something more interesting. What are you doing besides computer stuff?”
“I’m part of Chicago Bird Collision Monitors.” She taps the laptop case. “That’s what I’m doing now. And I read in my spare time.”
“Have you found anything exciting recently?”
“Birds or books?”
“Either, although I’m probably more interested in the books.”
Cress gives her a Cheshire cat grin. The way she does the slow fade is amazing and Elizabeth stares, mesmerized.
“Funny you should ask. I remember we talked about biographies of women who have done all sorts of research in computing. After that, I readQueen of Nowhere. That Caterina Cornaro was really something.”
Hearts dart out from Cress’ eyes. A definite bonding is beginning here. Meantime, Jarvis has been shifting from foot to foot.
Standing with his arms crossed like an unmovable object, Jarvis says, “Hello, Lilibet.” For some reason, his greeting reddens her cheeks.
She glances up from under her lashes for a moment, then refocuses on the tabletop. “Hi, Jar. Didn’t see you.” He scowls at her brazen lie.
Then Max walks in, and the world stops.
Whatever I expected this evening, seeing JL Martin wasn’t part of it. I can’t take my eyes off his scruffy face, glassy eyes with bags like backpacks, and an unhealthy pallor. His shoulders sag and the corners of his lips are downturned. But for all that, he is drinking me in, his eyes with a glint of hope like a shiny coin glittering in a sea of rubble.
Tanoshii is a BYOB and Max hands a carrier full of bottles and cans to the hostess before he looks around, puzzled. “Why are you all standing here?”
We scramble for seats. It’s like musical chairs with me trying to avoid JL and Jarvis trying to avoid Elizabeth. In the end, Jarvis sits across from Elizabeth, while Max grabs the center, across from Cress. JL and I are across on the other end. Girls one side, men the other. A kick in my ankle lets me know JL wants my attention.
Jarvis and Elizabeth sit tight-lipped. She’s closed her computer and put it in a caramel-colored brief bag. Arms tightly pulled into their sides, they concentrate on the menu, but I see the covert glances when each thinks the other isn’t looking. A server comes by and stops next to Max. “You brought drinks?”
“Yes, Mike gave me a list of the sakes and he’d put something together for us.”
“Sure. Do you want an explanation in advance or just as each selection comes out?”
“We’ll just take it as it comes with the explanations at the time.”
JL pushes his chair back, moves around to Cress and whispers in her ear. She smiles and I see Max scowl. Then JL helps her out of her seat, and she sits down across from me. “Easier for conversation,” she says. “I want to know all about Vancouver.”
JL, in the meantime, has moved his new chair so the top rails are touching. Then he slides to the edge and casually lays his arm across the top. His sleeve brushes against my neck, shivers run up to the base of my skull, and I feel hairs rise at my nape. An involuntary shiver makes me flinch, not in rejection, more like overstimulation. My nerve endings tingle as he blows across my ear, and I clamp my lips together to suppress a deep moan I can feel in my chest.
Fuck. This man. I can feel electricity run through me and I’m almost willing to forgive him anything. A vision of his mother glaring and Angélique gloating displaces the room. Then my brain short circuits as our fingers entwine.
“We need to talk, ma chouette. Après le diner?”
